


The Bucket List

by The Cheshire Kitty (Stregatta)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Depression, Jos Verstappen's A+ Parenting, M/M, Panic Attacks, Voyeurism, also Death is mentioned a lot, also angst, also boring orgies I'm afraid, might have mild BDSM in the future because why not, that aside it's just idiots in lust and maybe love who knows eheh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stregatta/pseuds/The%20Cheshire%20Kitty
Summary: When feelings and life itself get in the way of your Great Masterplan™.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo (mentioned), Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Comments: 14
Kudos: 94





	1. Scene 1 – an offer Daniel Ricciardo can and will refuse

**Author's Note:**

> So, this longfic is basically a collage of scenes kept together by the sheer force of my own self-indulgence, and my quarantine creative high. I'm having the time of my life writing this, and I hope you're going to have at least a fraction of that much fun while reading it.

\- You're lucky we are not using a timer.

Daniel shot him a glance, then he went back to stare at the chessboard in front of him.

\- If I were lucky, I would be partying somewhere else instead of being here.

Sitting at the other side of the table, Charles snorted, and opened his arms.

\- Why, I'm offering you some... Intellectually stimulating experience.

\- Or, rubbing your middle-class European education on this uncultured Aussie face.

\- Don't be so hard on yourself... I bet you could lecture me on kangaroos and koalas' lifestyles all night long.

Daniel burst into laughter.

\- Kangaroos and koalas' _lifestyles_...

\- Well, there are no such animals in Monaco, so...

\- No, no, it's... “Lifestyles”, I love that. I know what you mean, but I'm like... Picturing a reality show about them... Keeping Up With The Koalas...

With that, Daniel fell against the back of his armchair, wheezing at his own joke.

Charles gave out a chuckle, rolling his eyes.

\- Yeah, ok, you're the native speaker here, I'm sorry.

\- And-and both names start with a K, I mean, it's perfect... Thanks for the input, man, I'll get in touch with some network asap to pitch the idea.

\- Well, you can talk to the Netflix crew next week.

\- I'll credit you as a muse, we will split the money and leave F1 to become TV writers or something.

\- Sure, can't wait. Now...

Charles nudged the chessboard on the table.

Shaking his head, Daniel said: - You really are passionate about this, right?

\- Totally. It's all about strategy and maths and...

\- Maths? Is that really what gets you going? What else? Spelling bee contests? Selling cookies to your neighbours in your cute boy-scout uniform? I bet you'd look good in a boy-scout uniform, by the way.

\- Oooh, you know what? You're just jealous because I'm ahead of you even outside the track.

\- I barely know what I'm doing, you might be losing and tricking me into thinking that you're not.

\- Actually it is sort of true? I mean, I can see how you could trap my king in, like... One, two... Four moves. Five, maybe.

Daniel sighed, and moved one of his knights to eat one of Charles' pawns, which prompted his host to shout: - The knight can't move like that, that's how the bishop moves... Jesus, man!

\- You know what? - Daniel said, standing up.

\- … the problem here is that I'm not a nerd, so I cannot beat a true nerd at this nerdiness tournament.

\- Sore loser, sore loser... ! - Charles began to chant, and his guest mocked him by parroting his accent as he headed to the terrace: - _Sorr lusèr, sorr lusèr_...!

While Daniel was out, enjoying the unusually warm night breeze coming from the sea, Charles took a bottle of liquor to pour out two shots of it.

He then called for Daniel, his heart suddenly beating faster.

\- Come back here... I've got something to soothe your pain.

As he grabbed the glass, Daniel smelled the content.

\- Is it limoncello?

\- Kind of. It's homemade. My family's recipe.

Quickly, Charles emptied his glass, barely tasting the liquid in his mouth.

Sipping it carefully, back on the armchair, Daniel pondered: - There's something else inside, not just lemons... I can't tell what it is. Maybe some kind of berry, because it's a bit sweet, but it's so yellow, I just...

\- Keep drinking, you're getting close. I've got a whole bottle, if you need some more.

Looking at him from the bottom up, Daniel purred ironically: - Getting me drunk won't grant you free access to this haaawt bod, nerd.

He was joking. Damn, he was constantly joking.

In general, Charles liked Daniel's sense of humour, the breezy fake-flirty tone, the pseudo-aggressive banter.

However, as the adrenaline coursed through his veins and his senses became sharper with intent, the desire to just put his little charade aside was growing more urgent – like with the pre-race high, he just wanted to get down and dirty.

So, it was time. Lights out...

\- What do I have to do for it?

… and away we go.

Of course Daniel laughed, alcohol and his own mindset a screen to his host's true intentions.

Charles didn't reciprocate the laughter – he reached his friend and knelt in front of him, grabbing his knees to gently spread his legs.

As soon as he started to lower himself on his groin, Daniel twitched and almost kicked him away.

\- Whoawhoawhoa, man, what's this?

A rare sight, Daniel Ricciardo being absolutely bewildered by something happening to him.

\- Huh... Nothing, if you don't want it.

\- … of course I don't, what the hell?

For a moment, they stood still, Charles sitting on the floor and Daniel with his legs folded up towards his chest.

Well, ok. He fucked up.

He just needed not to lose his cool and do some damage control.

First move: some much needed physical distancing.

Awkwardly getting up from his position, Charles cleared his throat and said: - Ok, ok... Sorry – before heading to the terrace.

His heart slowed down, his muscles relaxed.

His eyes fluttered shut, as he clinged to the railing and carefully extended his arms, bowing down as to stretch his back.

It wasn't that bad. Just a minor set back, a mere _figura di merda_.

No _figura di merda_ had ever proved itself lethal for anybody, right?

He heard Daniel's footsteps behind him, and he held his breath waiting for the unavoidable confrontation.

\- Charles, what was that?

He didn't sound angry – he spoke with a soft, concerned voice.

Somehow, that was even worse.

\- I think it's pretty obvious?

\- You... Like, you... Do you... ?

\- Look, I'm sorry. I went too far.

\- I'm trying to understand what did you go for, though? I mean, do you... ?

\- I... I don't know, I just... I thought I could... Give it a try. I'm not in love with you or something, no worries.

Finally, Charles felt stable enough to look into Daniel's eyes.

\- It's embarassing – he said, his voice shaking just the slightest bit. - It's something that I wanted to try, that's it. I was curious, and I thought it wouldn't be a problem for you to... You know... But it's fine. I was stupid.

Leaving the doorframe on which he had been leaning, as he was listening to his friend, Daniel stepped towards him.

Charles couldn't help flinching when he gently squeezed his shoulder.

\- Is there anything you want to talk about?

\- Not really, nope.

Daniel smiled, and said: - … ok, honestly I don't believe you, but... I'm here, if you need anything. Like, I'm literally two blocks away. Just ring the bell.

At this point, Charles was even comfortable enough to pat Daniel's hand as he uttered an almost inaudible “thanks”.

He was still convinced that his reasoning was bulletproof: if he were to suck a dick, he couldn't trust a prostitute or a random hook up to keep quiet about it afterwards. The risk of being blackmailed was too high.

A fellow driver would have been way more trustworthy.

So, he just had to pick the perfect candidate, who then turned out to be... Well, not perfect at all.

However, on paper, he seemed so: Daniel was a loyal friend, a smart man with an excellent sense of humour and healthy sexual appetites.

Most of all, as a F1 driver, he knew what was at stake – he knew how fragile were everybody's position and reputation, and how the higher you climbed professionally, the more both factors became intertwined.

Of course, for a driver, it didn't get any higher than being in Ferrari – in spite of the latest years' results the glow was still there, the red car still a shining beacon of glory, something you had to be worthy of.

The narrative woven by the media regarding his persona served the purpose well: _enfant prodige_ with a tragic past, the Chosen One trope perfectly covered.

Becoming one of Death's favourite toys had its perks.

No use in rejecting that thought, he tried many times but it just wouldn't get away – so he let it stay, at first morphing it into a detailed fantasy which would also sometimes taint his dreams at night: a lady in black, tall and faceless, both facing and surrounding him, trapping him into a dark circle which would slowly become smaller and smaller.

_You're next_ , she would say with the sweetest, matter-of-fact voice.

It wasn't scary – well, maybe at night, sometimes, for a moment, but fear would slide easily away, as anger swelled and engulfed him entirely, like a flame.

Therefore, eventually the fantasy turned into a call to action, a prompt: _you're next, so_... _Live as much as possible, and as fast as possible._

Hence, the bucket list.

The first entries were already ticked out – becoming a F1 driver, check. Becoming a Ferrari driver, check. Winning at least one race on his first year in Ferrari, check.

Of course, the next big goal was winning at least one championship – working really hard at that.

The rest included a very diverse array of smaller accomplishments: tasting weird foods, visiting weird places, acquiring weird skills...

And, of course, the sexual side.

Luckily enough, in the recent past he had a fairly open-minded girlfriend willing to help him with his project, and many entries had been fulfilled – very satisfyingly so.

However, being currently single was the perfect status for devoting himself to a specific set of goals.

One of them was performing oral sex to a man – and so far he had failed spectacularly at it.

He hoped that things wouldn't be too awkward, with Daniel – he didn't seem very upset, besides his first reaction. 

Sure, he wasn't so naive as to think that everything would have stayed the same in the future.


	2. Scene 2 – Mission Kissnow

Melbourne was freaking amazing.

He didn't finish P1 as he hoped, but he was content with being the tasty filling of a Mercedes failed 1-2 which turned into a sandwich.

Max Verstappen, being his usual annoying self on and off the track – he chuckled at the thought, his fourth drink swaying inside his glass as he glided through the semi-empty dancefloor.

The party was almost over, and the few colleagues left were scattered all over the place: one sweet-talking his way into a girl's panties, another one laughing at his phone, a couple of them still bouncing to the music blasted by the DJ...

… and the one and only Daniel Ricciardo sitting at the bar counter, _alone_... Unacceptable.

\- Dannyyy...! - Max spluttered, crashing on the stool next to his friend.

\- … what the hell are you doing here?

\- Resting my tired old limbs, and wondering if I should have another drink... How are you doing, man?

\- Great! - Max shouted, slamming his drink on the counter, spilling some of it on the surface.

\- … I have no idea why I'm so pumped, I mean, I'm just – oh... Oi! Oi, Charles!

From afar, Max noticed the Ferrari driver coming towards them, not looking especially cheerful.

Sure as Hell he was still ruminating about his P4, even though he performed quite good given the technical issues his car experienced during the race.

\- Hello – he forced a smile, and then he asked the bartender for a Long Island Ice Tea.

They were close enough to allow Max to notice the dark circles around his eyes, and the tortured, short as ever fingernails.

\- Are you alright?

The words just fell from his mouth, coming from a place of genuine concern and alcohol intoxication.

Charles turned to him, but he glanced just beyond his shoulder.

\- Hi.

Max had almost forgot Daniel was there – he kept on staring at Charles' face as his friend replied with a soft: - Hello, Charles.

Maybe he was drunk enough to start seeing things that really weren't there, but... Something felt definitely wrong both in Daniel's tone and in Charles' expression – the latter blinked and lowered his gaze, concentrating on the newly prepared drink the bartender had just handed him.

\- See you around, guys.

\- See you – muttered Max, observing Charles as he left, his back hunched over and his free hand curled into a fist at his side.

He then shook his head, and asked: - What the fuck was that?

Daniel raised an eyebrow, and Max gestured towards the direction Charles walked in.

\- That. What was that?

And something even stranger happened right there and then, something Max never thought he would have been able to witness in his entire lifetime.

\- … God, are you speechless...? This is scary, let me tell you.

In a second, Daniel came back to his usual demeanor, nonchalantly replying: - Nothing to declare, here.

\- You're the worst liar ever. Seriously, even worse than me.

And, most of all, when Daniel would try to lie about something he would usually spill the beans right afterwards.

It happened that time as well.

\- Ok, huh... Let's picture a hypothetical scenario. A really vague one, also, and totally not personal to me.

\- Sure.

Sighing and picking a straw from a nerby container, Daniel began narrating: - There's a guy... Like, a friend of yours. He's one of those reliable, sensible types but not a drag, he can be actually quite fun once you get to know him – he's cool. You like and respect him.

\- Ok.

\- So, out of the blue, this totally level-headed, cool lad does something... Well, weird. Like, very out of character.

\- … did he kill someone?

Daniel glared at Max.

\- So killing someone for you qualifies as “weird”, good to know.

Max shook his head, and groaned: - Can you cut the bullshit, please? I'm getting frustrated, here.

\- Excuse you, I'm painting a picture. You can't hurry art.

Focusing back on strangling the straw between his hands, Daniel kept on talking.

\- So, the guy does this thing, and you point out how weird this thing is, and he backpedals and apologises and, you know, he just thought it wouldn't be such a big deal but it actually is.

\- So, you and this cool lad fought?

\- There's no fight. You are just confused and worried. You think Cool Lad might hide something, but it's hard to tell. Every reason he might have to be upset, everyone knows. And I mean _everyone_. You get the feeling that he constantly has someone rubbing salt on his very public wounds just to get a reaction from him. Or maybe just to get him to play his Cool Lad part dutifully, as he always does, because they love that shit, they love how charming and mature for his age he is. He's a bit of a mystery to you, even if you're friends. You don't know what to make of the thing he did.

Max changed his position on the stool so that he could rest his back against the counter.

He lazily scanned the place, looking for the obvious subject of their current conversation.

\- So... It's not really concerning, right? It is because of the person Cool Lad is.

\- Yeah.

\- Did he offer you drugs?

\- … first murder, now drugs – do I have to worry about your moral compass?

\- Alright, alright – Max raised his hands, almost falling from his seat. – I give up.

\- It was not a riddle, it was the answer to the question you asked me.

Unfortunately resistance was futile, for Daniel; Max wasn't willing to walk out of that battle defeated and unknowing.

\- I've got another question for you: do you really think I'm not going to ask Charles directly about this? Like, really-really?

The brief flash of fear in Daniel's eyes signalled that he won.

It was also quite unsettling, to see.

Carefully, he finally said: - Last week, Charles offered me oral sex.

For the second time that night, Max was about to end up on the floor.

Dumbstruck, he mumbled: - He-He wanted to...?

\- I mean... He's young, maybe I worry too much. It's not like I've never tried to do something a bit... Edgy, in the past, if that's the correct word to use in this case. Or maybe he's just into guys, nothing wrong about it. What's your opinion?

Lost in his drunken thoughts, Max mumbled: - Huh?

Daniel nodded and grabbed his friend's drink, making it slide on the counter towards himself.

\- … I think your tank is full, my friend.

\- Maybe I can talk to him? I mean, just-

\- You're not even supposed to know about the... Incident. So, don't say anything and most of all don't do anything, ok?

\- Well, I meant to talk to him... Like... Discreetly.

\- Discreetly. _You_.

\- Yes, _me_. I'm offended, man, you don't think I can be stealth when I need to?

Excited at the idea of going on a mission, Max banged his fist on the counter.

\- I'll keep an eye on him, for you. You'll thank me later – you _will_.

Max wasn't really outraged by the news, beside the first shock.

Sometimes one would just want to give something a try, for fun, for a dare, or to get a shot of the purest adrenaline as one find himself doing something their own “beloved” Daddy would deem disgusting and lewd and – ok, that was a tad too specific.

But Charles – what could have been the reasoning of the Real Prince of Monaco, _Il Cavallino_ , the _enfant prodige_ of Ferrari?

Sure, Max knew the guy was no angel, despite his doe-eyed appearance: since they first met and clashed back in their kart days, he recognized the steely edge to Charles' polite, humble façade – a seemingly unshakable clarity of mind.

He knew what to do, how to do it, when to do it. And he was never sorry nor indecisive, both in deep sorrow and during the dizzying heights of his own success.

Charles seemed to be able to face it all, to stare down at every obstacle and challenge with surgical ferocity.

Max couldn't help comparing himself with him; however, it was not out of self-loathing - he didn't feel any inferior as a driver, or as a person.

He liked the contraposition.

He was aware of how people saw him – rude, reckless, all that stuff. Nobody would call him a prince, nobody would mention how charming he was, not even his fans.

A lion. Big and scary and easy to understand – you don't want to mess with a lion, period.

Charles was like a cat, instead – a seemingly harmless creature ready to uncover his claws at will.

A mysterious one, as well.

Max genuinely wanted to help Daniel with the issue, but at the same time he had to admit to himself that he also was quite curious.

So, at the end of the day, the whole thing became a bizarrely fun game, to him.

He didn't go for a verbal approach straight away – they knew each other, but their relationship was still too stiff for a friendly chat about... Well, life, life as a young F1 driver, life as a rich kid in a lavish environment full of delicious tempting treats and threats...

Therefore, at first, he settled for some quiet watching.

For instance, he “unintentionally” found himself behind Charles during the Bahrain pre-race parade, as he and Pierre were spending their time babbling in French about God knew what and who and why.

Pierre. The good ol' Pierre “Pear” Gasly.

If the two of them would have really been so close, why hadn't Charles chosen him for The Thing?

Unless...

Unless it actually happened, and the attempt failed just like the one Max knew about, so Charles had to go for Plan B – ouch, was Daniel really a Plan B, to him? Pear was cute, sure, but Daniel was definitely on a different league, no second-best material at all... Objectively speaking.

Or could it be that Charles actually had a type? Tall, dark, effortlessly cool and funny?

What was he looking for? Someone he could trust enough just to have him scratch that specific itch, or someone he could be with on a regular basis?

Hard to tell. He seemed to be constantly low-key flirting, frankly.

He would just stand there, smiling, batting his eyelashes, twirling around you and even leaving a trail of perfume – some floral and citrusy concoction which was overall nice, to be honest - in his wake.

Seriously, who the fuck would have douzed themselves with so much perfume before soaking for at least one hour and a half in their own sweat and – sometimes – even nastier bodily fluids?

He still had some trace of that delicate mixture on after race, before the sweet champagne shower coming from his bottle washed it away.

P1, right in front of Sebastian and him. A fantasy scenario, in a way; Mercedes following closely in P4 and P5, Ferrari's strategy actually working wonders for once.

2020 season was being amazing, so far.

That was a thought he shared with his target.

\- Hey... 2020 season is being amazing so far, right?

Turning briefly his gaze off the scale he had bounced on, Charles didn't say anything – he beamed a smile at him, eyes still tired and dark-circled but also crinkling like they always did when he was smiling sincerely.

Definitely a “yes”, but not much of an ice-breaker – it was unbelievable how they needed one, how come they never got around to become friends? He kind of liked Charles, after all.

Well, apparently it was a one-sided feeling.

Not really a problem, just a bit of an obstacle in his quest for the Truth on behalf of Daniel.

Daniel, who knew what he was doing and subtly checking on him from afar - “subtly” as in laughing out loud every time he saw him sneak around Charles for his private eye activities.

Ungrateful, and unfair of him.

Anyway, he had to settle for some additional Charles-watching, as his ice-breaking strategy bombed miserably.

He spotted some mild flirting action with Alex Albon – the way that little... Well, the way _he_ rolled Alex's complete name around his French-speaking tongue - “ _Alexanderrr_ ” - what a... What a fucking _tease_. Or maybe he wasn't, but he totally _sounded_ like one.

He smirked as he caught Charles listening to some Whatsapp audios by hovering the bottom of his phone next to his ear – for how much he loved reminding people around him that he was born in '97, he acted like the most typical technologically-illiterate Boomer mum.

Most probably he secretly appreciated glittery gifs and Whatsapp chains.

Not that he could actually find that out, he didn't even have his phone number.

He burst into laughter as he once saw Charles literally tripping over his own feet – and he heard him.

He seemed annoyed, for a moment; then, he forced a smile and said: - You didn't see me.

\- Not at all, man – was Max's answer.

A small, but pleasant win – ice still on, but cracking ever-so-slightly.

By chance, ice – actually, ice- _cream_ \- would play an important role in the most fundamental development of his investigation.

\- Charles?

He had caught him red-handed, and also red-faced – he looked way too guilty, given the circumstances.

\- Hey. How are you?

\- Great, thanks – and you?

\- Great, thank you – cheat day, you know?

As he said so, Charles waved his ice-cream cone, the cream on top trembling at the motion.

\- It looks... Huh, what's the word...

\- Delicious?

\- No, no, it was a bit weird, like... Scrumptious. It looks scrumptious.

\- Whoa, that's a weird word... _Scrrrumshus_? Sounds fake.

\- Don't be bitter because you're ignorant, now.

\- Ah-ah. _Stronzo_.

\- I know what that means, try again.

Charles chuckled, and stepped towards the exit of the ice-cream parlour.

\- See you around, mate.

\- No, wait!

… overdramatic, but effective: Charles, and half-a-dozen of people queueing for their ice-cream, turned towards him.

He was silently asking for a reason why he had to wait, his eyebrow raised in a dangerously inquisitive fashion.

_Don't ruin my perfect and unexpected chance at ice-breaking_ , that was the reason.

\- I've never had ice-cream here... Any advice?

Sort of true; Max never-ever visited that parlour before – the best in Monaco, according to all the sources.

However, he didn't really care for any advice and it was quite a lame excuse anyway, but whatever – better than anything at all.

Charled loved vanilla ice-cream, so Max was forced by the circumstances to suck it up and have a whole cone of it.

He hated vanilla ice-cream with a passion since he was a child.

\- Oh, and whipped cream on top – it's the sweetest I've ever had, the best.

He also hated sweet whipped cream.

However, he did his best to finish that horrifyingly bland heap of sugary nothing as he strolled down Monaco's promenade side by side with his target.

Damn, he _inhaled_ that thing.

\- How the fuck can you eat so fast?

Charles tossed the pointy bottom of his cone inside his mouth, barely chewing it before he swallowed.

\- Dunno, I'm just fast, mate... But you know that already – he replied, trying and failing to wink at Max.

What an idiot. He was such an idiot, it was like he was two idiots in one.

There wasn't a single ounce of... _Torturedness_ in him, at the moment.

Just a young man with some vanilla ice-cream in his stomach, and a bit at the corners of his mouth, enjoying the late-afternoon, warm golden sun.

\- You've got something here – Max said, scraping slightly at his own mouth to signal were the something was.

\- Whyyy, Max Emilian, is that an excuse to steal a kiss?

It was a joke, of course.

An idiot joke from one – no, two – no, at least _four_ idiots all rolled up in one.

The irony definitely didn't get lost on Max, after a second.

A second in which the idea planted itself into the fertile terrain of his mind, instantaneously blossoming into a beautiful flower – a flower of trouble.

_There's something else I would steal from you, Charles Marc Hervé Percival – each name for the multiple idiots you are._


	3. Scene 3 - Dutch Lion pounces Monégasque Kitten

On the horizon, a monstrous leaden cluster of clouds weighed on the green, flat sea below.

However, the terrace was still sun-drenched and the wind barely stronger than a gentle breeze; the option of going back inside felt unnecessary, and unwelcome.

The storm was bound to unleash his power far from the land, he was sure about it.

\- How can you be so sure, though?

Sunglasses on, Charles reclined against the back of his wicker chair, with more than just a hint of smugness tainting his smile.

\- I was born here, I know the local weather.

On the other side of the table, Max was still studying the clouds. a skeptical grimace on his face.

\- I just don't wanna get soaked, you know?

\- You won't – you don't trust me?

His guest grinned, and poked the food in his plate.

\- I'll never, ever trust you, Charles Leclerc – he finally retorted, stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.

He was one of those people who would grab a fork like a dagger.

Maybe it was a telling detail – the guy was a war machine, it suited him fine.

That might have been the reason why they got along in the past without being particularly friendly towards each other. 

He thought that the fire in Max was entertaining but a touch too wild for his taste - a fun show, one Charles didn't want to share with Max besides their race shenanigans.

Still, there they were, having lunch on his own terrace on a fair day of late spring, after they started to hang out in Monaco by chance a few weeks before.

He was genuinely impressed at how pleasant Max's company was – he was funny, relaxed, full of energy. A cool guy all around.

They totally had the potential to became the best frenemies duo of modern F1.

\- So, if this is next week's weather, you won't need any forecast from the team?

Charles's smile trembled.

His home GP was approaching, and while he was excited he also appreciated the rare moments in which he was able to temporarily forget about it.

\- No, I'll just stick my finger up while driving to tell the direction of the wind and I'll make the strategy up accordingly.

\- Still better than whatever the Ferrari guys used to cook up for you and Sebastian every Sunday.

\- Oooh, now we're ahead – _I_ am ahead.

\- Miracles do happen. But we're closing in – _I_ am closing in on you, _Predestinato_. Feel the pressure?

\- You know I don't.

\- Smug bastard.

\- I know you are, but what am I?

Max's laughter rumbled along to the sound of a thunder.

\- … how about that, weather boy? Looks like the storm is coming.

It was true: the clouds have travelled towards the coast, and they were yet to pour down a single drop.

Most probably, at that rate, they would have reached and then been blocked by the mountains, and the rain would have released itself on the city.

\- You can go inside, if you're afraid.

Charles could tell that Max was tempted to give up – he had grown fidgety, his fingers tapping on the surface of the clothed table.

The whole thing didn't really make any sense, but it was fun to be carried out.

\- Naaah...

Max leaned forward, and whispered: - … I wanna see your face when you'll realize that you're wrong.

So, they sat there, as the sky above them turned grey and the first drop hit the table – Charles didn't even take his sunglasses off, his back straight and his hands splayed on both sides of his plate.

A raindrop fell on the inner corner of Max's left eye, and rolled down his cheek.

\- Do you want to go inside? - Charles asked, his t-shirt already uncomfortably damp on his shoulders and upperback.

Max blinked, as more droplets landed on his eyelids.

There was a poem, about the rain. Italian guy, old stuff, original version a tad too courtly for his level of proficiency but he enjoyed the French version a lot, back in his school days.

_Ècoute, dès nuages épars tombe la pluie..._

\- Nah, it's not that much, we can wait.

The rain intensified, though - water crashing heavily on them, mixing with the red wine in their glasses and loudly splashing on the food.

Time to stop the race.

\- … ok, red flag.

They made it to the kitchen, burdened with food and beverages – tablecloth and cutlery left outside, as neither of them wanted to go back to retrieve any of it.

Max shook his head, in a good impression of a labrador who had just taken a bath.

\- Well – he said, peeling a corner of his sodden shirt off his skin with two fingers - at least now the chicken is less dry.

After having stored what remained of that very same chicken away, Charles banged the fridge door shut, crying out: - Oooh, I told you it was my first time!

He followed Max out of the kitchen, as he stood in the middle of the corridor and mocked him: - Sure, it's your first time, you're unexperienced and such... Still, if it's dry it means that you're not working hard enough, man, just saying.

Then Max looked at him head-to-toe, with a hungry smile on his lips.

\- You are all nice and wet, instead... Mhm, literally dripping.

Charles rolled his eyes, going past him and heading for his bedroom.

\- I'm going to change my clothes and find something for you to wear... I feel generous.

He had already slipped into a dry shirt and a pair of shorts, and rummaged his drawers to provide Max with some clothes as well, when he heard his guest's quiet footsteps behind him.

Still looking away from him, Charles said: - Oh, there you are. I think you will have to try these on first, I'm not sure-

A hand gripped gently his arm, making him turn.

A less gentle mouth squashed his own a moment later.

As Charles was too dumbstruck to fight back, Max wrapped his arms around him, grasping at his hair and leaning the weight of his whole body on his, making Charles take a stumbling step behind and slam against the wardrobe.

Finally, he wiggled his hands free and pinched Max on his sides as hard as possible.

The move worked: he backed an inch off, so that Charles could push him away, yelling: - What the hell?

Flushed and dishevelled, Max stared at him with such an utterly, unsufferably stupid expression that Charles felt the urge to jump at him and slap it the fuck out of his face.

The temptation grew stronger, as Max muttered: - What?

He needed to calm down, to avoid ending up doing some irreparable shit.

\- … that's my question? Will you answer me?

Gradually, Max seemed to come back to Earth; he shrugged, as he explained in a matter-of-fact tone: - I wanted to kiss you. That's it.

\- Why?

As Max hesitated, Charles sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, mumbling against his palms: - Are you in love or...?

\- Heeey, slow down.

\- Ah, ok, sure, I have to slow down, it's not like you've just-

\- I know what happened that night with Daniel.

Charles froze in place, his heart skipping a beat.

Did Daniel...? Why? What could have been the reason?

… was it to laugh about it with his friend? Daniel? Laughing about him?

That night he had been so understanding, so kind...

Did he lie to his face? Did he run to Max to have a good giggle about him begging to have some cock down his throat?

\- … he told you – he whispered, and Max exclaimed: - Just because I noticed that he was acting strange around you, and I was curious and I told him I would have asked you personally if he hadn't spilled the beans. Nobody else knows.

Charles sat down on his bed, his knees shaking and his head spinning.

God, he fucked up. He fucked up big time.

He barely heard Max speaking, like he was miles away from him.

\- So, if you're still interested in, you know…

Was he? Was he interested in... What? In making a fool of himself? In measuring how vast was his own stupidity?

How was he supposed to go on with his project, when such a trivial thing already came back to bite his ass?

Who could he trust, anyway, to do it?

\- … you can do it with me.

Charles whipped his head towards Max so abruptly, he startled his guest.

\- What?

Taking a deep breath, Max repeated: - You can do it with me.

So, he really said that.

He really wanted that.

He really wanted him to do that.

Still shaking, Charles managed to coolly state: - Thanks. I appreciate your generous offer.

Max didn't seem to catch the drift, at first.

As the silence became heavier and heavier, he finally realised and blurted out: - Fuck, it looks bad, right?

\- It looks like you came here for a free lunch and a free blowjob. You have enough money for both.

\- Ok, maybe it came out the wrong way because I'm really bad at speaking in general and I'm even worse in English and I... I literally assaulted you, but... I didn't mean to offend you or to hurt you.

\- I forgive you, ok, now you can go.

\- Listen...

\- No, I don't want to listen.

\- Please, I need you to understand.

\- I do understand, no worries.

\- Don't be so stubborn, come on!

\- … Fuck you, I'm not going to listen while you're trying to convince me to suck your-

\- I like you.

Flustered and shaking, Max took a deep breath and said: - I wouldn't say that I'm in love, but... I like you. That's why whatever you want to do, you can do it with me if you wish.

Charles wasn't sure about what to reply to that.

He couldn't form a single coherent thought, at the moment – his brain plagued by a blizzard of whys, hows, whens, and most of all whats.

Then, a small bunch of ideas started to take shape.

The first one was a simple equation: Max = F1 driver. It meant that he definitely fitted within his plans for the bucket list.

The second one suggested that Max proved himself over and over to be a honest individual, at times to a fault – he simply wasn't built to lie. Double-edged sword.

The third one was that... He liked him? Really? As in... Care about him? Or in a I-jerk-off-thinking-about-you kind of thing? What? What? _What_?

The data he had collected so far were too few to take a decision there and then – he needed some time to wade through all the pros and cons, and mostly to simmer the fuck down.

\- I don't know – Charles exhaled.

Never had he seen Max like that; his eyes glittered for a moment, and his face crumpled like he was about to burst into tears, much to Charles' horror.

Then he regained control, nodding in the fakest nonchalant manner.

\- It's your life, man.

Oh, God, he hated everything.

He hated being there and he hated not being able to leave.

He hated having spoken, and having thought it could have worked.

It seems like such an easy matter, a quid pro quo situation – and it was, it fucking was, why did it have to end up like this?

It was nothing, and yet Charles found a way to complicate it all.

Ok, maybe that was unfair but he just couldn't help feeling a bit resentful.

That aside, Max was barely aware of what the hell was going on inside of him – too many things at once, and they all sucked big time, and they kept him stuck there like an idiot in front of the door.

_I don't know._

How was that even possible, he always knew what he wanted.

Or maybe that was a lie.

A white lie to soften the blow.

He simply wasn't into him.

Not a big deal, of course.

To each their own.

Different strokes for different people.

And so on and so forth.

It was fine.

He just had to leave.

Max grabbed the handle, and listened for the last time to any sound coming from Charles' bedroom – earlier, he had spent his time trying to detect every possible clue that his host was coming out to announce that he had changed his mind, he didn't miss a single rustle of clothes, a single inarticulated groan and the occasional frustrated _putain_ , a single step out of his relentless pacing across the room.

Yep, he had to leave.

He was going to leave in a moment.

The bedroom door squeaked open.

Paralyzed, Max watched as Charles approached him, stretching out his arm to rest his hand against the surface of the entrance door to keep it shut.

His face so close to Max's their noses were almost touching, Charles said: - We're going to do this. Don't tell anybody, not even Daniel.

Repressing the urge to pounce him again, arousal already rumbling in his abdomen, Max replied: - Of course, who do you think you're talking to?

Charles' right eye twitched.

\- Promise.

\- I promise.

He stared at Max like he was actually able to read his mind, searching for every trace of hypothetical treason.

Even if he would have been able to, there was nothing to be found anyway, apart from the urge to just get fucking started.

\- Can I kiss you?

That request startled Charles out of his trance; he looked uncertain, suddenly.

Max chuckled, and hooked his hand around his arm, lowering it.

The hair on Charles' forearm was fine and soft: Max ruffled it with his fingers.

\- Oh, come on, are you one of those people who think that a kiss on the lips is _too intimate_?

Slowly, Max had Charles against the door: he began to stroke both his arms and shoulders, trying to get him to relax, and at the same time enjoying the shape of the muscles under his touch.

Charles sighed, his breath blowing on Max's neck.

\- Well, you know that I want to do a specific thing. I never talked about kissing.

Closing in on him, Max spoke on his lips: - I like foreplay, it makes me enjoy what comes next better...

Then, he gave a tentative peck.

No hostile reaction.

He applied more pressure on Charles' mouth, who awkwardly opened it.

Max was expecting a bit of a fight, but he allowed him to freely taste and explore, not interacting much.

While he was still getting more and more aroused, Max couldn't help feeling a bit empty as well.

He pulled back, and Charles asked: - Enough?

Wow, cold.

Trying to hide his slight disappointment, Max replied: - The more we kiss, the harder I get... So you won't have to work too much, you know?

Charles arched his eyebrows.

\- … thanks, I guess?

Determined not to let his attitude affect him, Max went straight for the patch of skin below his ear.

Warm and perfumed, the rain doing nothing against that weird cologne of his, the sweet and fresh fragrance that hit his nostrils as soon as Charles welcomed him into his flat that morning.

He had put on perfume, that day, even if he didn't have to go out, for a lunch on his terrace with a friend...

Maybe he just liked smelling good.

And he did, he smelled good – he smelled intoxicating.

\- Don't give me a hickey.

\- I won't give you any, that's for kids.

\- Yeah, hickeys are stupid.

\- Just like you.

\- … go fuck yourself.

If only turning him on had been as easy as making him angry.

\- Are you ready yet?

He sounded impatient, but most probably only because all of that action was getting in the way of his plans.

Keeping his irritation at bay, Max grabbed Charles' hand, pressing it against his crotch.

\- Why don't you find out by yourself?

The hand curled around the bulge in his trousers, cupping it perfectly.

Max moaned as Charles started to rub his palm against his cock, his gaze now sharper, his swollen lips hanging open, his breath heavier.

A proper reaction, at last.

Max had to stop his motions, though; the pleasure he got from that was more intense than he expected.

\- No, no... I'm gonna come in my pants, like this...

With trembling fingers, he traced Charles' lips, the tips dipping inside his mouth and grazing his teeth and tongue.

\- … and I wanna come here, instead.

Plunging himself on the sofa, Max grabbed a cushion and tossed it at Charles.

\- For your knees.

He then closed his eyes and spread his legs, anticipating what was about to start – he didn't even zip down his trousers, he just wanted to sit back and relax into his much sought-after orgasm.

As nothing was happening, though, he lifted an eyelid to check the ongoing situation.

Charles was standing in front of him, hands balled up in two fists on his hips, cushion on the floor between Max's feet.

\- What are you doing?

Max shrugged.

\- Enjoying a blowjob...?

Sighing heavily, Charles replied: - You have to tell me what to do.

\- Huuuh... Suck my dick?

\- … who's stupid, now?

\- You, as usual?

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose; a moment later, he knelt between Max's thighs, attacking the zipper of his jeans and rolling them down along with his underwear, just enough to uncover his cock.

Max drank the scene, smiling eagerly – he wasn't much of a visual person, he mostly enjoyed touching and being touched, but he reckoned that he would have missed quite the picture by keeping his eyes shut.

Coldly, Charles asked: - What do you like?

He was also not used to give instructions – his partners so far had been either well-versed in the art of making love, or so enthusiastic and physical that any verbal cue would have seemed pointless, it was all about the instinctual urge to give and receive pleasure.

So, now Max was forced to actually think about what he liked.

\- Bit of attention to my balls? Like, roll them in your hand? And in the meantime you can lick my cock.

Charles gave him a small nod, and obliged Max's requests.

His fingertips were nimble, barely grazing the delicate skin of his testicles – Max felt that he was doing it on purpose, like he was intimidated by the task and he was trying to keep the contact to a bare minimum.

He acted in the same fashion with his tongue, at first, darting it out briefly as to have a taste of the main course.

Max let out a moan, as Charles slowed down and started to leave little damp kisses along his cock, occasionally engulfing the tip of it between his lips for some shallow sucking.

Ok, less-than-stellar beginning but the follow-up was being amazing, so far.

\- Is it too much to ask for a bit of eye-contact?

Charles stopped and glared at him – managing to appear both irritated and aroused at the same time.

\- Passive-aggressive much...?

Max blinked, confused.

\- … I literally meant if it's too much for you. It's your first time, after all.

At that, Charles' expression softened.

\- I'll give it a try.

Not the best idea: every time he glanced up at him he seemed so _worried_. He was just... Checking that everything was fine.

And it was – oh, it was indeed, and in spite of all the stumbling blocks along the way.

All in all, Max had obtained exactly what he wanted – Charles' mouth against his own, and around his dick.

\- What now?

Max rolled his eyes, this time not out of pleasure.

\- … box this lap.

\- Oh, come on...!

\- Seriously, you need a race engineer for sex? Just improvise!

Puffing from his nostrils, Charles adjusted his position, seizing each of Max's thigs and straightening his back.

He then dipped down, and tried to deep-throat him.

It didn't end well.

Max cackled, as Charles performed a symphony of coughing and fragmented French cusswords.

He did prove to have some guts, though, and not just while driving a car.

\- It takes practice for that shit, mate – Max said, half-mocking half-consoling.

Eventually, Charles calmed down, but he stayed there, sitting on the floor, his back turned to his partner.

Was he not going to...?

Even though his body was screaming for the very opposite, Max offered: - I can finish myself, if you...

\- No, _I_ will finish _you_.

Charles took his t-shirt off, throwing it next to Max on the sofa.

\- I'm sweating like when I race.

Without thinking, Max snatched the discarded t-shirt to give it a sniff.

It smelled nice, the usual smell mixed with a touch of perspiration – he kind of wanted to hide his face in it as Charles kept on doing his job.

\- What are you doing now...?

The sound of his voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, Max commented: - Less talking, more sucking.

It was good, and it was hard as fuck – no pun intended.

It was hard to get completely lost in the pleasure, the fact that any abrupt motion could have put Charles off the task constantly at the back of Max's mind, his instincts and intellect playing tug-of-war and delaying his release.

\- Are you close?

Moreover, Charles acting so dryly was still a mild turn-off.

How was that possible? Wasn't he dying to come or something?

Was he even hard, for fuck's sake?

Max uncovered his face, and ordered: - Take your shorts off.

\- Why?

\- I want to see you naked.

\- Why now?

\- It's sexier. It would make me come.

\- I don't want to.

\- Why?

\- It's not what I agreed on.

\- You didn't agree on making out either, but you did it anyway.

\- Well, I don't agree on showing my dick anyway. Can I continue, now, or do you still want to finish yourself?

Fuming, Max squeezed his eyes shut and resumed his previous position.

Whatever. Stupid little bitch.

From that point on, he concentrated more on his own orgasm, the urge to just be done with that bullshit as strong as the pleasure he felt.

He thrusted his hips upwards, something he had refrained from doing until that moment, his hand looking for Charles' hair and tousling it.

He still wasn't going to keep his head in place, even though he would have just loved to fuck his face properly – Hell, he wasn't that much of a beast.

At last, it was over.

Max bit down on his forearm not to cry out in ecstasy – he wasn't going to give Charles such a positive feedback, as deserving as he actually was of it.

His host, in the meantime, looked like he was about to puke - and he was quite unsuccessfully trying to hide it.

With a sigh, Max said: - Just spit, mate.

Seeing Charles speeding to the kitchen and hearing him opening the sink's faucets was equally funny and insulting, to him.

He wobbled back to the living room, leaning against the doorframe as Max was still sitting on the sofa, savouring the afterglow of their encounter.

He looked exhausted.

\- I think I'm going to the toilet, now... If you're leaving in the meantime, bye.

Max shrugged, openly smirking at him.

Underneath Charles' shorts, he noticed the unmistakable shape of a full hard-on.


	4. Scene 5 – Dumb dogs & Dumb bois

Alcohol wasn't working.

Charles glared at his drink, like he could make it feel guilty about being completely useless to numb his rage.

It was increasing, instead, and a darker feeling was also slowly surfacing from deep down inside; a shadow, thrown upon his past accomplishments, making them and him feel shaky, fragile.

He was thinking too much, caring about trivial things he had never given a fuck before – again. It had become a well-established trend, by then.

He was so good at it, that when he crashed he only let out a roar, and then he bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying something even vaguely reminiscing of his infamous _I am stupid_ in Baku.

He wasn't in the mood of turning his failure into a meme.

He lost the fucking lead of the championship. At home. By crashing like a freaking idiot right outside the tunnel.

Around him, only sympathetic people blaming the rain, reminding him that F1 is just like that, mate, it's part of the game, you can climb back to the top, you're good, you're so good.

And he knew. He knew he was. He knew he could be.

Not that day, though.

From afar, Daniel was openly staring at him, his lips curled into a soft smile.

Charles was still not comfortable enough to interact with him again – not after finding out that he had told Max about that night.

He wasn't holding a grudge, but he definitely trusted him less than before.

Some reckoning was bound to happen, sooner or later – better later, though.

Charles lowered his eyes again on his glass, not really seeing it.

It couldn't get any worse than that...

\- Hey!

… could it?

Max was standing there, the largest smile on his face.

What did he want? To gloat about leading the championship? Couldn't he spare Charles the fucking bullshit?

\- What time is it?

Charles blinked.

\- Huh?

\- What time is it, Charles?

The Hell...?

What was that, a joke? What was the answer? It's... It's Hammertime? It's Eurobeat Time? Some fucking Sbinalla reference?

\- I have no idea.

\- Check.

Still not sure about the reasoning behind that request, Charles fished his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and reading: - It's eleven thirty-six.

Max's smile turned into a quite devilish grin.

\- So, your phone's working.

… oh, fucking Hell.

If the circumstances had been different, Charles would have apologised for having ignored Max's calls and texts during the whole week after their... Lunch at his place.

Unfortunately, we was too pissed up and pissed off at the moment to behave properly.

\- Well, what do you want me to do? Wish you a goodmorning and a goodnight every day or send you nudes or...?

\- Wouldn't complain about it, to be honest.

\- We're not together.

\- But we're friends, I think?

Charles huffed in disbelief.

How the fuck could Max contradict himself so many times in such a short span of time?

After having waited for a reply which didn't come, Max growled: - You know what? You need to grow a fucking pair, Charles.

\- Max, come on...

Someone around them had already noticed their harsh exchange; oblivious to that, Max rambled on: - Seriously, you should have just called a professional if you did not want to-

Charles grabbed his wrist to stop his rant.

\- Can we talk about it somewhere else?

The air outside the bar was hot and sticky, no relief coming from it at all.

Charles leaned against the fire exit door, closing his eyes.

That made his dizziness even worse.

\- Ok, huh... - he mumbled - … this is not what I planned.

Max's voice swam to his ears, croaky and resentful.

\- What was your plan, then?

Deflating like a punctured balloon, Charles exhaled: - I have a list.

\- A list of what? Of drivers you want to blow?

In spite of his nausea and spinning head, Charles opened his eyes to stare at Max with contempt as he explained: - It's a bucket list. You know, just a series of things you want to do before you die.

All colour left Max's cheeks.

\- Wha-what... Charles, are you, like... Ill or something?

\- No, no, I'm fine... I'm just, you know, trying to use the time I have on this planet to live as much as possible. So, it was something I wanted to do and... I didn't want you to get the idea that I was looking for anything serious. That's why I...

\- You ghosted me.

Charles shrugged without saying a word – all in all, he did act like a dick, no point in denying it.

Max chuckled sarcastically.

\- I'm curious... Do you think that everyone you interact with is hopelessly crushing on you or was I just giving you any vibe...?

\- I don't know, you've been all over me for the whole week so I thought you might have developed some, you know...

\- Feelings for you? - Max blurted out, mouth gaping in a bewildered, frozen laughter.

\- … you're really overestimating your sexual skills here, man.

Charles couldn't believe what he was witnessing – the shameless lie, the obvious deception, the fucking sheer denial.

Max literally told him he _liked_ him a week before, then he proceeded to have his dick sucked and – and he had to bite his arm not to scream because he made him come so hard, Charles saw that, he remembered the other hand tangled up in his hair, Max's thighs trembling and twitching upwards as he emptied himself in his mouth-

He was trying to be... Considerate. He knew how Max had been affected by all of that. He was trying to do the right thing... By doing the wrong thing, ok, but still. His intentions were good.

And that was what he was getting? Max making a scene about being ghosted but still unable to be honest with himself and admit he had at least a tiny crush on him?

\- So you're not impressed – Charles murmured, looking at Max through his eyelashes.

\- Well, sure, I had worse, in the past.

Charles nodded to himself, replying in a casual tone: - Too bad, I guess I will really have to contact a professional...

Max turned serious, and asked tentatively: - So, there's something else on the list...?

\- Yep... Oral sex was just the beginning.

\- What do you want to do?

\- Well, I never went to a proper orgy... And I've never tried bondage and S&M... And I've never had sex in a public place with a man...

In a couple of steps, Max reached him, pressing his hands on the fire exit door, one at each side of Charles' face - his breath heavier, his pupils dilated.

He did seem a bit like a lion, ready to attack.

\- We can tick that out right now, if you wish.

Charles smiled, satisfied; he arched his back, making his lips wet with a brief flicker of his tongue – Max's mouth fell open, as he moved forward to brush his chest against Charles'.

\- I think I'll need to reharse the part in a more private context first...

Max seemed on the verge of losing it, his voice a puff of steam against Charles' neck.

\- Have you ever done it before...?

\- Once I fooled around a bit with one of my girlfriend's toys.

\- Was it good?

\- It was interesting.

Suddenly bouncing back on his feet, Max said: - Where and when.

Charles eyed the tent in his trousers – and he looked down at his own as well.

\- My place, when we'll be there.

He was about to suffocate.

His protesting moan got lost into Max's mouth, just like the air in his lungs, and in turn he felt a giggle vibrating against his own lips.

As soon as Max gave him the opportunity to do so, Charles blurted out breathily: - What's so funny, you idiot?

Laid on top of him, face sweaty and red, his hands pinning Charles' arms against the mattress right above his head, Max looked both tired and pleased.

Maybe that was his plan all along – killing him with some extreme French kissing.

That thing had been going on for ages... Like, at least twenty minutes. Twenty overall pleasant minutes, sure, in which Max had been thrusting inside of him and licking his chest and biting his neck and shoulders and sucking at his earlobes and... Many things. Many lovely things.

At the moment, though, his hips were moving on such a languid pace, and he was kissing his mouth so slowly, and he was pressing his fingers into his wrists so firmly...

It was getting a bit annoying.

\- What, are you mad at me?

\- I need to breathe. You know, in order to survive.

\- I'll try to remember that.

As Max was about to dive on his mouth again, Charles turned his head to escape the kiss, which landed on his cheek instead and without missing a beat traveled down along his jaw and neck and got sloppier as soon as it reached his collar bones.

Then, Max stopped moving altogether.

\- You're tense.

Charles laughed sarcastically, and pointed at his arms with his head.

\- I'm basically trapped, you know?

\- No, you're not – we're fucking, it's supposed to be pleasant... Is it?

Since Max had stopped thrusting, the whole position had felt even more uncomfortable, his body becoming even more rigid.

\- It is... But you're just...

\- What? What am I?

Well, there was no other way to put it in.

\- … you're too slow for me.

Charles almost cried out as Max pulled himself up and half-slid out of him.

\- Are you trying to piss me off? Like, _now_? Why?

\- No, no, I'm just... Can we just come already? It's been going on for so long!

\- We're fucking, why do you want it to be over so soon? It's... It's good. Fucking is good. I don't want it to be over.

\- Well, you're not the one taking it up his ass at the moment.

\- Oh, so now you don't want to be the bottom anymore – I asked you, and you said that it was fine.

\- It is. I like it, it feels good but... After a while, you just wanna come, you know?

Max sighed, and glanced at his groin.

\- … great, at least you'll be happy that it's over.

He carefully pulled out his softening cock and jumped out of the bed, slamming the condom on the floor while heading out of the bedroom.

Charles found him still naked and sprawled on the couch in the living room, lazily scrolling down on his Instagram's homepage.

Their clothes were scattered on the floor, near the carpet Max wanted to fuck him on before.

\- You didn't even shower.

\- Sorry, mummy.

Max turned around, looking at him head to toe – Charles hadn't bothered putting back some clothes on either.

\- Do you want to start again?

If only to make the twenty-minute debacle worth.

\- If you agree.

Max rolled around on the couch, resting his chin on the armrest.

\- Maybe you can be on top, this time?

He smiled and shrugged at Charles' perplexed face: - I'm easy, what can I say.

It was a good idea.

Ok, at first he kind of regretted it – the moment he had Charles' first finger trying to make his way inside of him.

It wasn't painful, just a bit uncomfortable – and he could tell that Charles was annoyed at his body's reluctance to open up for him.

It was both amusing and arousing at the same time: Charles was panting on his neck, his hot breath on his skin making Max shiver in pleasure, his hand working slowly and thouroughly, two lube-coated fingers hidden inside of him.

Max groped blindly behind himself, finding Charles' thigh and traveling up to stop where his glute began.

\- You're doing amazing, sweetie.

Charles laughed, and moved forward to whisper in his ear: - I'm trying to focus, here.

If only the press could have seen them, and most of all if they could have seen him trying to diffuse the tension, instead of riding it into war for once.

Well, not the best way to make it to the front page of every newspaper on Earth – or maybe it was, who knew.

Earlier, he got so pissed off.

Everything was fucking perfect, he was into the moment and he thought that Charles was there with him as well: they ripped each other's clothes off as soon as they got inside Charles' apartment and they kissed and kissed some more and...

God, he wished to kiss Charles again so bad.

The angle was too awkward for that, but maybe he could have asked for something on his back and neck.

He wasn't sure Charles would have done it umprompted – he had the feeling that he just wanted to go at it hard and fast, any trace of tenderness confined to their previous botched attempt.

\- I think I'm ready.

At least he had been gentle, in his first thrust.

Max deemed Charles decent enough not to go full throttle on his ass straight away, but a touch of uncertainty tinged his considerations about his partner anyway.

The latter was working diligently, his pace and thrust direction constantly adjusting to Max's instructions – now that he was in control, Charles constantly asked for feedback: am I fast enough? Are you getting closer? Is this alright?

It was. Sure, rougher than he estimated it to be at the beginning.

They were fucking against the wall in the bedroom, lights on, Max bent over with Charles gripping his neck right below his hairline.

It was a lot but it was not much at the same time – Charles finally had found his prostate and he was ramming into it, his breathing turned into a string of moans and sob-like gasps, and it was so hot but Max wanted more, more skin against his body, more skin for him to touch and grab onto, and mostly he wanted to see Charles' face.

Recent memories of his eyes closed in ecstasy, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, his lovely reddened mouth open and ready to be filled again and again with his tongue flashed through Max's mind – and memories from the party, Charles listing all of the filthy things he wanted to do – and memories from their first encounter, and all the sexual fantasies he had about him and...

But Max didn't want to zone out, not with an orgasm ready to explode between his legs – he wanted to be there, with the man behind him, the man who had just come, letting out a strangled scream against his shoulder.

Max didn't mean to fall asleep – he had decided to close his eyes for a moment, as he was waiting for his turn with the shower, just to let them rest for a short while.

He woke up as Charles violently twitched next to him, mumbling incoherently.

In the faint, blueish light of dawn filtering through the window, Max could see him shaking, his hands curled into fists, his face transfigured in a terrified grimace.

Still in a sleepy daze, Max grabbed Charles' shoulder to gently shake him awake.

\- Hey, hey... It's a bad dream, mate.

At that, Charles' eyes shot open, at first staring ahead, unblinkingly – arms clenched tightly against his chest, his breath frantic, like he had just come back from exploring some dark abyss without oxygen bottles.

Not sure how to comfort him, Max asked: - What did you see?

Finally, Charles looked like himself again: he relaxed, wiping his sweaty brow with his hand.

He shifted to lie down on his back, and said: - Nothing, it's just... It's a recurring nightmare.

\- About what?

\- I don't feel like talking about it, sorry.

The both of them lay quietly next to each other for a moment; then, Max shrugged: - I have a recurring nightmare as well... I'm falling, and then I stop, and then I start falling again.

\- Sounds fun. Like a rollercoaster.

\- … God, what's the matter with you?

That pried a giggle from Charles, who then rolled to his side and asked: - What do you do when you wake up? Like, to forget the nightmare?

\- I look for funny videos of puppies on my phone.

As to prove it, Max grabbed his phone from the nightstand, unplugging it from the charger.

He looked for the Youtube app, opening it and browsing through his favourite videos until he found what he was looking for.

\- Here... Thirty-four minutes of dumb dogs. Hope it's enough.

Charles sighed: - Let's hope so.

They spent the next thirty-four minutes laughing and laughing, like they used to do just a week before, or maybe even more – although Max was quite sure he had never heard Charles screech like that, he never knew he could actually make such a noise.

In the shortest span of time, his mood had changed so drastically.

From time to time, Max couldn't help staring at Charles, cute dumb dogs forgotten for a moment, wondering what the Hell was wrong with the guy.

And, as going back to the cute dumb dogs was becoming harder and harder, Max wondered what was wrong with himself as well.


	5. Scene 6 - Public Becomes Private Pt I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes, it's me! After all this time! With a mini-chapter! Because I like to ~ disappoint people! Thanks for the patience, if you're still there. Part II hopefully coming in less than 6 - freaking - months. Bye!

The days leading to their new encounter passed by in a haze of conflicting feelings, for Max.

He couldn't ignore the energy igniting his body, and how vacant he felt at the same time. He was constantly buzzing with pointless excitement, from the moment he would wake up to the one in which he managed to doze off for quite a scarce amount of hours per night.

That was the reason why he squeezed as many masturbating sessions as possible into his daily routine, as working out had proven ineffective to completely diffuse the buzz, the electrifying feeling tied to the idea that he was allegedly going to have sex with Charles again in three... Two... One day, and the impact of that idea on his body and mind.

He tried hard to distract himself, flashbacks of their night together still hitting him at random times – he'd freeze, lost in the memory of a specific moan he had managed to elicit from Charles because of some really good move; of the delightful arch of his out-stretched neck, his own fingers loosely wrapped around it; of the mole on the left side of Charles' jaw, right below his ear, the one he couldn't resist kissing with a hungry, open mouth.

And of having him inside, most of all.

That night, it felt like an obvious decision – and then, after all was done and said, it dawned on him... He let Charles penetrate him. In the light of the day, away from the heat of the moment, it felt like a distant, surreal concept, something not meant to happen with that specific guy.

But still, a certain, mildly uncomfortable sting _down there_ would remind him that, yes, he let _The_ Charles Leclerc do it. There was no escaping that, even as he was back to his own place, trophies and helmets and gym gear and dirty dishes around him as always; texting Daniel and Alex and Lando about the usual hilarious inanities; talking to the phone with Victoria who'd ask him “Max, did you hear what I said?”, “yes, you already told me, don't you remember?”, “why are you so quiet?”, “why do you sound so _weird_?”

Well, there were things he couldn't confess to his sister, no matter how close they were to each other. It wasn't a lie, just an omission. He managed to keep his mouth shut, for once in his life.

He wasn't exactly dying to tell Vic about the fact that he was to meet Charles in a few days to most probably tick some other option out of his kinky list, anyway.

Their first night together, he had invited him with a sleepy voice, after having watched those dumb puppies on Youtube, eyes closed as he was already half-lost in his dream world again.

\- Wednesday morning. Ten o'clock. At the cinema.

… and there he was. Waiting. Seventeen fucking minutes already, hanging in front of the entrance of the only cinema in Monaco, under the scorching sun.

He was sweating. A lot. He hoped not to have any visible damp patches near the armpits area – he wore a dark polo shirt on purpose, to avoid such occurrence.

He could still smell the perfume he douzed himself with before leaving for his... Date? Was that a date? Anyway. He didn't stink. That was the most important part.

Why did he care, though?

No, ok, the question was why didn't he care _before_?

He walked into that... _Situation_ with a mind full of pure, unabashed... _Hornyness_ , drenched to the bone with late spring rain – and when he bumped again into Charles and they fucked for the first time he was drunk and furious and completely unaware of anything else besides what he wanted, what he _craved_.

At the moment, instead, he felt self-conscious, a tad stupid and, yep, sweaty.

He spotted Charles trotting towards him from down the road, wearing a white shirt and matching white trousers - like some fancy ice-cream man.

At fucking last.

Max stood there, unmoving and staring as Charles reached him and took off his own sunglasses.

\- Good morning... Why do you look so grumpy?

The fucking nerve of that little...

\- Nothing, it's just my face. Shall we go?

The lady at the ticket counter raised her white-haired head, and squinted her eyes at them; then, her face lightened up, and she hurriedly left her place to greet them.

No, scratch that – to greet Charles, actually: the woman grabbed his hands, and said: - _Charlot, bébé...!_

After the mandatory exchange of _ça va_ , Max immersed himself in the following cloud of French words, extrapolating just enough of them to make sense of their conversation – Charles wasn't going to the cinema enough, the lady missed him and Lorenzo and Arthur, but she was proud of them nonetheless, as also testified by her eyes watering while talking about it.

At that point, Max had walked a bit farther from the pair in order to grant them some privacy: Charles hugged the lady, speaking to her in a low, soothing tone.

For a couple of minutes, the only audible sound in the cinema hall were her quiet sobs, and Charles repeating _je sais, je sais_ ; as she calmed down, he planted a feather-like kiss on her forehead, and asked her something.

The woman nodded, sniffing... And then she hit him on his arm, her face still wet with tears but sporting a tiny, cheeky smile as well.

She then went back to the ticket counter, after having finally acknowledged Max's presence with a sheepish hand wave; Charles reached him, and said: - Sorry... Omérine has known me since I was a child. She owns the place. Me and my family used to come here quite often.

Max mumbled: - No problem -, and focused on the movie posters hanging from the ceiling.

\- I was thinking... Maybe The Emperor's New Groove might not be a good idea, even if it's funny.

Charles chuckled: - I know, it's hilarious.

He then quoted under his breathe: - _Le poison destiné à Kuzco, le poison choisi spécialment pour tuer Kuzco, le poison de Kuzco_...

Max was tempted to chime in with the Dutch version of the line, but he didn’t - he idly entertained the idea of teaching at least a bunch of Dutch words to that idiot, eventually.

A wave of heat flared from his lower abdomen up to his face, as he wondered whether there might have been some teacher/student roleplay on the list.

Oblivious to that, Charles pondered: - You know, it's a matinée on a Wednesday, so nobody will be here in general anyway, but to avoid any risk I'd suggest... Un Homme et Une Femme.

Max agreed right away – it wasn't like they were there to watch a movie, after all.

It had been a while since the last time he had seen Omérine. Charles had no time to go to the cinema, when in Monaco. Or, well, he had time, but somehow he ended up doing different things with his friends, hanging out at his place or dining at some restaurant and such. There wasn't any specific reason for neglecting the place, it just happened.

In the meantime, Omérine had grown older and frail-looking, hair now completely white, her back slightly hunched forward.

Her face, though, was still the same. Her kind smile and sparkly, round brown eyes. The same lady who would gift him and Arthur caramel popcorn and sour candy strings and ask them how Lorenzo was doing and why wasn't he coming anymore, was he feeling all grown up all of a sudden? Too old to watch a movie with the rest of his family? Oh, he was in France. He was always in France, he was studying and working hard. Here, have some more popcorn to compensate.

He could still remember how it tasted, and the soft-crunchy-sticky texture of it under his teeth – Arthur was more of a candy type, he would slurp all of the strings like noodles while sitting next to him, as Mum and Dad would ask him once again not to make that much noise while eating, please.

The bigger room was his favourite even back then: semicircular in shape and not very big in size, actually; the screen enclosed by red velvet curtains and a proper theatre stage right beneath it. The place would double as a theatre, in fact, even though that used to be a long time before and Charles was never able to attend a pièce in there.

Anyway, back in his childhood and early teen-age years, he was only interested in cartoons and action movies. Then, he moved on to different leisure activities, different places, different people.

But memories were so clear, triggered by the stimuli around him. The rush of excitement as the trailers sequence would finally be over and the movie was about to begin, and he would adjust on his seat to see the screen as best as possible (short people struggles, back when he still was among the tiniest members of his friends' circle and family) and abandon his popcorn bucket on the floor, ready to immerse himself into yet another cinematic fantasy.

\- So... it's L8 and I guess yours must be...?

\- Nah.

\- What do you mean? I can read, you know.

\- I mean... Nobody's here, and nobody will be, most probably. We can go behind.

They ended up sitting down in the middle of the last row.

Max sank down on his seat, one of his legs bouncing and one arm strectched over the edge of his backrest up until Charles'.

\- How can this place survive at all? We're the only customers here.

\- Well, the only customers here at the moment... Matineès are not a thing anymore, I guess.

\- How could they be in general, though? Like, wasn't having a job and going to school a thing in Monaco, in the past?

\- Well, there is still this idea that Monégasque people don't work for a living anyway, maybe it was true in the past.

\- Yeah, you are just born rich or you earn your money by renting balconies on race week-ends.

Charles chuckled.

The lights went off, and the first trailer appeared on screen.

  
  


He liked the movie, to be honest. He had watched it a couple of times, at first because the plot featured a driver as a prominent character, and then because it was just good.

Of course, at the moment, he felt a tad distracted, the main reason behind their movie date impossible to ignore. Not that he _really_ wanted to ignore it, huh? He was very determined to proceed, at the right time.

During the second half of the movie, Charles finally looked at Max.

A statue. Staring straight ahead, almost unblinking. Fingers curled around the edges of the armrests. Legs slightly parted, unmoving.

Could have been relaxed, could have been frozen in discomfort. The lack of proper lighting wasn't helping.

He was waiting, most probably. After all, Charles had taken the lead, and so far he had led Max... Nowhere, basically.

Max jolted as Charles touched his knee. Just a bit nervous, poor guy. No reason to be, they were alone. In a public place, but completely alone.

Still, Charles decided to take it easy; he started to draw circles on Max's thigh with his index and middle finger, slowly.

Max shifted on his seat, lips pursed and eyelashes fluttering.

A trembling sigh escaped his mouth, as Charles moved his hand to grab his inner thigh, groping and rubbing it; he squirmed, and arched his back, and bared his throat.

And he hadn't even touched his dick yet... How responsive he was.

It was hot, Charles had to admit to himself. He wished to be like that, sometimes. To easily surrender himself to the joys of sex just like how easily he could get lost in the rush of racing or skydiving or riding ocean waves on a surfboard, his body and mind perfectly in tune and focused on the task at hand.

When Max was inside him, that night... He freaked out and almost ruined it all. Looking back on his reaction, the morning after, Charles felt mortified even as he remembered how good the second round felt for the both of them, and how they laughed for the cute dogs and – that part felt like a dream. A sweet dream after the nightmare. And a vivid one as well, as he would find himself replaying the scene inside his head multiple times, the ring of Max's breathy laughter put on repeat like his favourite track on a playlist.

Charles had underestimated him for so long, but... Max was good. He was lucky to have him as a companion throughout that little project of his.

\- This doesn't count as “sex in public”, by the way.

\- What is it, then?

\- On the list was... “Handjob at the cinema”.

They both laughed; Max turned to Charles, stretching out to kiss him and unzipping his own flies at the same time.

\- Would you sit on my lap?

\- … that's a bit too much risky, don't you think?

\- Yeah, the actors on screen might judge us... Come on. Let me touch something too.

As to prove his words, Max caressed Charles' hips, trousers riding low on his own and cock uncovered and fully hard already; he batted Charles' hand away, as he reached for it.

\- Oh, come on... !

\- Sit on me, you muppet.

\- Ok... You're getting bossy. Whose idea was to come here for this, again...?

Max shook his head, clucking his tongue.

He hooked his thumbs under the waistline of his trousers and underwear, making both slide down to his knees – Charles thought peripherically that he was now sitting with a bare ass on a cinema seat.

\- Sit here – Max said, lifting up his polo shirt to uncover his lower abdomen with a hand and patting one of his thigs at the same time.

Charles glanced at the room entrance.

The risk wasn't that high, after all.

And Max's lap looked comfy. And naked.

He left his place, to carefully climb up on it.

\- Mhm, yes baby...

\- Please, don't say that ever again.

\- You say that all the time.

\- Yeah, that's why you shouldn't say that.

\- Oh, God – Max laughed, encircling Charles' waist in a loose hug.

He added, cheekily: - … come on, give it a tug.

Charles stroked him once, base to tip – that's all it took for Max to throw his head behind and repeat: - Oh, God...

A second stroke, and he raised up to nibble Charles' neck, and to give his ass a squeeze so firm it made Charles whimper.

\- I'd fuck you... - Max growled to his ear - … I'd fuck you right here.

Charles didn't reply – he mirrored Max's gestures as he had started to feel him up under his shirt, rubbing his palms against his nipples, scraping at his shoulderblades.

No lube, no condoms – he definitely came unprepared. It was supposed to be a handjob, after all – quick and discreet... Practical.

Then Max had taken his pants off and the idea of fucking had suddenly become, well, not bad at all.

Too late to change his mind, too complicated.

\- It's “handjob at the cinema”, I told you.

Max groaned, and fell back on his seat; he threw his arms on the edge of the ones around him, and said: - Then do it, please, because I swear to God I'm so close to bend you over and be done with it, so close... !

As Charles was about to grab his cock again, Max continued: - Also... Just take your dick out, you must be in pain at this point.

\- … you're only telling me this because you wanna see it.

\- And...? I like it. Come on, I'll do it for you...

His hands were rough and fast, against his newly exposed flesh. Just enough to get the job done quickly, as the circumstances required.

In a couple of minutes, Charles came between Max's fingers, while still busy jerking him off.

\- I knew you were about to explode...

\- What about you? My wrist hurts.

\- I've got stamina, man. Sure more than you.

Oh... A challenge?

Well, it was definitely accepted – mostly because Charles had a hunch about what could have helped him win in a matter of seconds.

He smiled in – hopefully – a seductive way, as he raised Max's hand covered in his seed to suck each one of his fingers clean, swirling his tongue around them and on his palm – some pornish, over-the-top lewd imagery one could only appreciate fully through the haze of an approaching orgasm, the thought amusing Charles and making him chuckle as Max's glassy eyes were fixed on him, lips hanging open in shocked fascination.

\- You _bitch_... !

And just like that, with a strangled sound, Max came as well.


	6. Scene 7 - Public Becomes Private Pt II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a depiction of a **panic attack**. That aside, it's the usual Repressed Feelings World Championship with a touch of rough sex. Bye ❤️

Once again, Max was waiting.

Once again, Charles was fucking late.

He couldn't even follow his own instructions, which were to meet up in an alley barely large enough to let a car by at a specific time in which, according to Mr Native Monégasque, most of his fellow citizens were busy preparing to go to bed, or for a night out – _basically_ _no one will notice us, like this._

A ninja, that Leclerc guy. The stupidest of them all.

After twenty minutes, a small white car entered the alley and stopped right in front of him.

The window rolled down to reveal Charles' smiling face.

\- Hello, mate!

Max looked at him, then at the car, and again at him.

\- What the fuck is this?

Charles opened the passenger's door, and said: - Jump in, I'll tell you.

Slipping inside, Max sat down and fastened his seatbelt.

A shrill lavender fragrance plagued the immaculate insides, and a sneeze began to develop in Max's nose in response to that; he turned to the back seat and startled, as he noticed a toddler sitting on it.

No, actually... It was a stuffed toy. A Spiderman stuffed toy, wearing a freaking seatbelt and looking like a small child in a costume; hanging from the back window by a couple of suction cups, a red banana plushie.

\- Is this your Mum's car...? - Max asked, incredulous.

Charles nodded, as he started the engine.

\- We're on a secret mission. We're under cover.

\- … you're literally crazy.

\- No, I'm a genius... No one will imagine Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen on a Fiat Panda.

\- Sure as Hell I didn't imagine myself on a fucking Fiat Panda.

\- Oooh, don't disrespect _il Pandino_... This little thing can bring us everywhere.

They left the tortuous maze of the old part of the city, sliding onto the streets which once per year would become a Formula 1 circuit.

\- I'm gonna take the road along the sea. It's slightly longer, but the view is prettier.

Their destination for the night was Nice. They opted for a club that was on the posh side, but not VIP territory, so that it could be a safe environment from every single point of view.

“They” - it was actually Charles' idea. He was well acquainted with the French Riviera club scene, while Max wasn't especially fond of it – he preferred private parties, most of the times hosted by colleagues... Well, hosted by Daniel, to be more specific. Not that he didn't enjoy having a night out in some club, but he had to be in a specific mood.

And, as they drove along the sea - a thin slice of moon grinning down to Earth, and Nice growing closer and closer in front of them - Max reckoned that the mood was there. A faint fizz, like his blood was as bubbly as fine champagne.

The more he stared at the sparkly lights waiting for them ahead, the more he felt like melting in that glowing pointillage, having the time of his life, banishing every dark thought away for at least that single night.

In fewer words, he wanted to get smashed.

Pleased with his final resolution, Max turned to Charles and let his eyes wander freely from his face to his neck and chest and what little of his bicep escaped the rolled sleeve of his white shirt and the outline of the vein adorning his forearm and the black beady bracelet on his wrist and his hand resting on the gear stick... And that was about it, since a certain pressure was growing between his legs - it was too soon, he had to save it for later.

_Sex in public_ , Max recalled. Quite a meaty entry, for the list – _meaty_ , ah-ah.

Struck by a sudden thought, he inquired: - Do you have it here?

\- What? - Charles said, glancing at him: he then realised, and continued: - No. It's on my computer, in a secret folder with a password.

\- Wouldn't you share it with me?

\- What for?

\- So I can be prepared for what comes next.

\- Don't you like being surprised?

\- If I'll keep being your partner in this project I should know where we are going, right?

Charles shrugged, arguing: - You can say no, whenever you want.

He added, a second later: - There isn't just sexual stuff in there anyway... You wouldn't find it that interesting.

\- I'm not just into sex – Max exclaimed, his voice breaking in the middle of the sentence like it would often happen, making that “just” sound petulant, and desperate. Or at least, that's how he was afraid it had come out.

Deepening his voice as much as possible, he carefully enunciated: - If you need a partner for anything else, you can ask me.

\- Thanks.

\- I mean it.

\- Ok.

Max shook his head, and said: - It's like... Since we began this thing we haven't been doing much of the stuff we used to do together... I mean, we're friends.

Charles flexed his fingers around the steering wheel, tapping its surface briefly before arguing: - Well, we're currently doing something that friends do, right? It's a night out.

\- Yeah, but it feels like we're FBI agents or something... It's not like it was before.

\- I'm not sure I get what you're saying, mate.

\- We only meet to fuck – Max blurted out, ignoring the heat spreading throughout his cheeks and neck, - I'm saying that we can do more. Just like friends do.

Charles didn't reply - his tongue darted out to lick his upper lip, his hands were gripping the wheel with unnecessary strength.

Frantically replaying in his head every single word he had just uttered, Max hastily added: - I'm not mad at you, ok? It's just a suggestion.

\- Feedback is always appreciated – was the reply he received, the playful tone in it so fake it made Max cringe.

He didn't want Charles to be uncomfortable... First and foremost, because he wasn't that much of a bastard; then, because the mood so far had been great, Charles greeted him in the most chipper fashion before, he was obviously ready to have fun _in every single way_ and... The last time they had met, it had been steamy and exciting but also so emotionally charged, what with that friend of his crying in his arms and such. Even though the handjob had been awesome, something about the experience lingered within Max, besides the memories of exchanged pleasure: some vague feeling of maybe not being an intruder, but a sort of guest? In Charles' life that wasn't there, before they started doing their thing. They used to just enjoy each other's company. It didn't last long, because Max was bursting at the seams with _want_ , everything about Charles enticing him with the unintentional sensuality of it: the way he smiled, licked his lips, bit his fingernails... Everything, every single mundane thing was enough to set Max's nerves ablaze. Sometimes he wished Charles had some gross habit – picking his nose in public, belching... Whatever. Something that would distract him, ground him, remind him that Charles was gorgeous and sexy and such but also a human being.

Anyway, the point was – Max wanted their night, but also their entire relationship, to feel good. And while having sex was great, so was the familiarity they had started to build before that. He missed it. He missed the freedom of goofing around with a person he fancied but also liked as a friend.

Maybe volunteering as a partner for Charles' project had been a mistake, in a way. Or voicing his opinion. He wasn't in the business of not expressing his views, though, and he didn't want to start there and then.

Someone between the two of them had to be... Uncomplicated. Unlike Charles, who at first had seen in Max's texts and calls a clue about some secret romantic affection. Really? Was it too much trying to reach a friend?

Anyhow, communication had improved, lately. Charles would almost never initiate interactions, but he would reply to his texts – which were pure comedy gold, by the way. That song about Sebastian leaving Ferrari set to the tune of Gotye's Somebody That I Used To Know? Genius. He had to link it to Charles. He had been told to go fuck himself in response, but at least for a moment that emo bitch had stopped moping around about it all and streaming James Blunt's depressing shit on Spotify.

The thought made Max giggle: Charles Leclerc, the Emo Bitch.

\- Why are you laughing?

\- Nothing.

The place was packed. There was barely room to walk to the counter for a drink, a cluster of people clinging to it and shouting their orders at the bartenders above the music.

Max wanted to waste as little time as possible queueing and staying sober, that night, so he ordered two Vodka Red Bulls, taking turns in sipping from both the glasses.

Charles shook his head at that.

\- I know I'm the designated driver, tonight, but you have two drinks and you're not even offering me a little taste?

Max threw his head back in a throaty laughter, and retorted: - It's Red Bull, mate, it's against your contract and maybe your principles too.

\- Oh, come on – Charles whined; he reached for the closest glass, his fingers brushing against Max's.

As he briefly sucked on the straw, Max mentally flew miles away from the current time and place to land on a specific memory, something he had recalled so many times already but it still held so much power on him. Thoughts flourished, sweet torrid images of what was to happen.

\- Argh... It's disgusting.

Max snapped out of his stupor, and said: - It's not for you, anyway.

He leaned towards Charles' ear, his heart beating faster at the mere idea of translating into sounds what was going on in his mind.

\- … I'm going to give you something else to suck.

Cheesy and vulgar, like some line from a low-budget porn movie. Max knew it, and he couldn't care less, alcohol already flowing through his system and interacting in the worst – _the best_ – possible way with his feelings. He was way past giving a damn about how precious and proper Charles liked to act – fuck that shit, he had seen him choking on his cock, he had seen him naked and horny, he knew how his privates looked like, how flushed he would get during an orgasm, he knew all of that and sometimes he wanted to shout it out loud for all to hear, for all to know that he...

The music changed into something quite familiar, and pleasantly so.

\- Whoa! - Max shouted, and rushed to finish his drinks.

Next to him, Charles blinked, and yelled back: - What?

\- It's Martin! Martin Garrix! Animals!

Max threw the empty glasses in a rubbish bin nearby, grabbing Charles's wrist.

\- I'm gonna introduce you to him, one of these days, he's such a cool guy! - he blubbered enthusiastically, as he dragged Charles to the dancefloor.

Max raised his hands, swaying them to the rhythm of his friend's song – what a genius, the little shit. The way that bass pounded, and the bouncy riff after the drop, and the distorted voice growling “we're the fucking animals _”_ right before... Ugh, the best. So sinister, but so catchy.

People were bumping into him, or he was bumping into them, he had no idea – they were all so close to each other, it was impossible to avoid touching, and Max wasn't bothered at all anyway. He was in that mood, the strange mood he had never talked about to anyone, not even his sister, not even Daniel. He just wanted to dance and feel the people around him and get sweaty and vibe with everybody else.

Next to him, Charles was writhing like a frightened eel – God, was he bad at dancing. Just like everyone currently on the dancefloor, but still. He apparently didn't need any amount of alcohol to make a fool of himself.

He was catching many eyes, anyway - like that girl's.

She was cute, yeah. Short, with a huge mane of curls she was shaking right and left and quite a perky ass in tiny shorts that she had been “casually” rubbing against Charles, pretending that she was sorry even for the third fucking time it had happened.

She quitted the charade, eventually, turning around and tapping Charles on his shoulder, standing on tip toes to say who knew what to his ear.

The other hand was on his hip, her thumb hooked on the edge of his trousers.

Well, Charles was hot – breaking news. A girl might have felt brave enough to ignore how shitty his moves were on the floor in order to check if he would been better at a different kind of dancing.

Her face, God... She was so obviously eager for a good fuck – and Max couldn't help empathizing with her on that.

He was becoming more and more nervous, the girl now circling Charles' wrist with her long fingers while still chatting, her lips so close to his ear Max could picture her dipping in, nibbling at his earlobe, he could imagine Charles' subsequent moan getting lost into the deafening music around them – he knew how it would have sounded, he had already heard it.

He was dying to spit it out at her, so that she would leave Charles alone.

Unless the interest was reciprocated, of course – he was leaning towards her with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he listened, his hand limp in her grip.

Why not, after all. She was cute. In different circumstances, Max would have encouraged him to seize the opportunity. And a quickie in the toilet wouldn't have been enough for Charles to give up on his mission, he was too laser-focused on his goals for that. He would have come back. Smelling of someone else, but ok. It was fine. It was... Kinky. He could have accepted it.

At last, Charles shook his head and shrugged; the girl nodded curtly, and waved him goodbye before disappearing into the crowd.

Even though he was relieved, Max couldn't get back to his previous blissful headspace; Charles was now closer, at least, making eye contact and half-hugging him while dancing.

He was trying to make up for the girl's incident, but it wasn't his fault, after all.

And Max could think of a couple of better ways to make up for it, anyway.

As soon as they had entered the stall, Max slammed him against the cold tiles covering the wall, pressing his body against his; his hands had slipped forward, cupping him briefly before unzipping his flies and dropping his trousers and underwear.

\- Yes, yes... - Charles heard him repeating, like he was in a trance.

His face was squished against the wall while Max was busy groping his ass with one hand and fondling his testicles with the other; Charles tried to change position, the blunt stimulation so sudden he couldn't catch his breath – it was pleasant, sure, and he understood Max's urgency: first of all, they were in for something quick, and then... Max had been acting a bit off all night long, an electric undercurrent affecting every interaction between them since they had left Monaco. He had probably some severe case of blue balls.

\- I need... - Charles said, trying to push his chest off the wall; Max slowed down, and whispered to his ear: - What...?

Despite having more room to breathe, Charles' ribcage still felt tight; he took a deep breath, and a pang on his left side caught him by surprise; in the meantime, Max was already trying to finger him open.

After some unsuccessful fumbling, Max complained: - You're too tight.

\- I know, I'm... - Charles replied, the sentence cut short by a new flash of pain between his ribs.

If that was what he thought it was, it wasn't good at all.

He was shaken by a single shiver, as he inhaled again through his nose and exhaled from his mouth, trying not to expand his lungs like he had done before. Another stab on the left side, but fainter.

Behind him, Max had stopped altogether, finally noticing how upset he was; he nuzzled his hair, murmuring: - Calm down... It's me, Charles...

He wished to, but he couldn't – and he had started to tremble as well.

It couldn't be that, it really couldn't be. Not then and there or... Never. Fucking never. It couldn't be.

Max circled his waist and, making things worse, he pressed his chest against his back, kissing his neck and mumbling: - I want you so bad...

He was close, he was obviously close – like the tiles on the wall, or the door of the stall and the writings on it: a stranger advertising their love for taking it up the ass and in their mouth for free and providing their phone number, a crude caricature of an ejaculating penis right next to that. On the floor, a small puddle of what hopefully wasn't piss and a crumpled scrap of toilet paper.

Everything was close, it was right there, but at the same time it was miles away from Charles.

His eyes watered, and he squeezed them shut as he let out a strangled: - Please, stop.

Max obliged, and Charles turned around, leaning against the wall while slowly getting himself dressed again, eyes still closed as he took all the time he needed in order to regain some composure.

\- Are we leaving?

Whatever had gotten into him was fading out – he was still trembling, but that aside he felt back into his own skin, surrounded by things that were at the correct distance from him again.

Shaking his head, Charles replied: - I still wanna do this.

\- Maybe you don't like the place? I mean... It's a toilet.

\- Maybe.

Resting his back on the opposite wall, Max hid his hands in his pockets and crossed his legs.

A moment later, he announced: - I have an idea.

Perfect, because Charles had none – even though he wasn't keen on admitting that.

He just nodded in response; Max walked towards him and started rubbing his arms and shoulders, drawing circles on his tense shoulderblades with his fingertips, digging into his skin ever so gently.

\- You have to relax, first.

Charles sighed, and nodded. He let Max guide him to rest his head on his collarbone, his fingers working their way from the middle of his back towards his sides and then back to his spine, upwards; once on his neck, Max delicately traced the sides of his nape, up and down.

\- You're good...

\- Don't get used to it.

Charles chuckled, adjusting his position on Max's chest.

He was ready to take a nap. His head was light, his body melting under the massage he was receiving...

Then Max tilted his chin up to give him a chaste kiss on the lips, reminding him of the reason why they were together that night.

\- Better?

Charles blinked, and whispered: - Yes.

At that, Max smiled slightly, and he went back to kiss him, this time slipping his tongue inside and stroking his cheek with his thumb.

As Max's hand was traveling down towards the small of his back or, most probably, even further, Charles broke the kiss – the sweet, sloppy, sensual kiss he was actually enjoying a lot – to say: - So...

\- Mhm...?

\- Your idea?

Max jerked back, letting Charles go.

\- Oh, yeah, the idea.

They had to hit the road again, to find the perfect spot. Nice couldn't provide them with what they were looking for, too well-lit and crowded – and the road they took to come would cross through several villages, before it started to look promising.

They were roughly half-way to Monaco, when Max pointed at something outside the window.

\- Turn there.

\- It seems private...?

\- Nope, look at that sign... It's ok.

They finally arrived to the empty car park of a football pitch facing the sea. The area was dark, except for the lampposts on the main road projecting down their light.

\- It's perfect... You can even hear the sea. How fucking cool is that?

\- Very cool.

Max got rid of his seatbelt, asking with the biggest grin: - Going to the back, right? It's the best option.

They both exited the car to move on the backseat, Max having a laugh at the Spiderman plushie and reaching down to put it away only to have his hand slapped by Charles, who proceeded to carefully place it on the driver's seat.

Getting undressed in such circumstances wasn't the easiest task to accomplish, most of all when one had a very horny Dutch guy all over oneself, his mouth and hands impossible to avoid in the cramped space they were sharing. Somehow, they both ended up naked and in a sequence of different positions, each one of them slightly uncomfortable at first and totally annoying in the long run; finally, they chose a precarious version of a doggy style.

\- My arm is... Mhm... How do you call it...

\- Pins and needles?

\- Yeah.

\- Sorry... Hope your ass feels fine, instead?

\- Thanks for asking, mate...

Max slid forward, grabbing onto Charles' hip not to lose balance while he was thrusting into him.

He panted to his ear: - No problem... By the way, to me your ass feels like heaven - and he bit down on his earlobe afterwards.

Charles couldn't help snorting a brief laughter.

His body still harboured a certain kind of softness, the aftershock of what he really, truly, seriously didn't want to call anything but a momentary lapse of his stupid brain – no mentioning of the A-word, or even worse the P-word. A-word and P-word had no business in fucking with his mind.

And after all, he was there with an erection and someone pushing his own inside of him... Mission accomplished. He could relax and enjoy the reward, an orgasm that was probably going to be massive since the time spent finding a comfortable arrangement for their activity counted as some unexpected edging; moreover, Max was taking his time to get there, as usual, and he actively prevented him from accelerating the process by touching himself.

It was definitely not Charles' style, he'd chase his climax as he did with his chances to get ahead on track – as fast as possible, because he hated waiting.

He had expected a similar approach from Max, and on their first time he stood corrected.

Not a problem, actually, because to be completely honest, he had to admit that Max was good at giving it. He was good at receiving it as well, but damn. Wonderful technique, wonderful dick.

… _did he just think that Max had a wonderful dick?_

But he did, yes. And he seemed to also have a bunch of overall pleasant habits - the extensive making out sessions as foreplay, the small bites on his neck and chest and...

\- I like your ears.

… what was with the compliments that night, seriously. Also, his ears? He must have been joking.

\- Don't be ridiculous...

\- What?

\- They're weird.

\- They're perfect, I'm here like Mike Tyson every time...

\- Eh?

\- Nothing, just... Go back down, yes... Can you feel it?

A lash of pleasure, from his groin all over his body.

\- Yes, I – oh, God...

Max stopped to laugh, a specific kind of laughter he mostly reserved for team radios at the end of a victorious race: he built up the next thrust by almost slipping out completely and ramming his cock back inside in a move that left Charles breathless for a split second.

\- I found it, huh? Do you like it? Tell me you like it, Charles...

He did, he did immensely – it reminded him of when he was able to find _that_ angle once, when he was home and he had got his hands on his ex-girlfriend's dildo, a pink, smooth, slightly curved thing she had forgotten from the night before and he thought... And he tried... And God, was it _good_.

Max stopped again, this time pinching his hip and saying: - Feedback, mate, or I'm not gonna do it again.

Of course he had to be his usual annoying self in such circumstances – everything was working fine, that was being their best encounter so far...

Ok. He was going to comply. Begrudgingly so, but what else could he do.

\- I like it.

\- What do you like?

\- Oh, come on...!

Max's hand came to circle Charles' neck, forcing him into a more upright position.

\- You like when I give it to you.

Not very pleasant. No asphyxiation kink to add to the list, for sure.

\- Max...

\- You love taking my dick.

Why the Hell was he acting like this.

\- I...

Damn, it wasn't easy at all. Which was also a bit nonsensical, because... Well, he was loving Max's cock up his ass. It was just the truth. But he didn't feel like saying it.

\- I...

Max's grip increased.

What if he was going to suffocate him.

\- … I love it.

Charles whimpered as he was freed and he went back to being fucked in deep, forceful thrusts; the rhythm grew erratic, Max moaning obscene nothings and Charles finally masturbating to the sound of that, greeting every wave of pleasure with gratitude because he couldn't take it for much longer, he craved the release that finally overwhelmed him, the space around feeling too small to contain it, and there was nothing he could grab onto, nothing to anchor him, nothing.

He collapsed on the backseat, Max doing the same on top of him soon after, puffing on his neck.

As he cooled down, Charles noticed a wet sensation on his stomach. Ignoring Max's protests, he rolled on his side to check the seat: there was a spot on it.

There was a spot, because he came on it.

That was his goddamn sperm.

Right on the Spiderman plushie side of the seat.

\- _Putain... –_ Charles exhaled _._

\- What? - Max asked, his arm sneaking around Charles' waist as he leaned for a peck on his shoulder.

\- … I fucked in my Mum's car! - was the reply, as Charles pulled back and struggled to sit up; Max left him the necessary room to do so, while arguing: - That's, like, pretty common for a lot of people our age? I mean, unless you have your own car or house or...

Charles' heart was pounding in his chest as he stared out of the window into the dark without really seeing anything.

Behind him, Max inquired: - … are you about to cry?

\- Please, leave me alone.

Max sighed. He kept quiet for a moment, before pondering: - Anyway, it was worth it, right? Your project is going just fine.

Just a second later, Charles sprang the door open and poked his head out of the car, puking on the parking lot's tarmac.

It didn't last long, luckily enough: he stood still to recover, the chill breeze of the night bringing some relief as it made the sweat he was drenched in turn cold.

He unintentionally shot a glance at what he had just released, groaning in disgust.

Meanwhile, from the inside of the car, Max squeaked: - Whoa, man, what the fuck...!

Charles shook his head, to clear his thoughts.

What could have been, what could have been... There must have been a reason. The uncomfortable position he was in before? Neck strain? He had no cocktails, that night. Could have been the orgasm? Could a very strong orgasm make one throw up?

What was the issue, what was going on, what the Hell was wrong with him?

\- Ok, you know what? We can wait until I'll be able to drive, and then I'll drive us back to Monaco.

\- I'm fine already. I'll drive us home – Charles said, his voice raspy and thin.

\- If that's you being fine, I don't want to know how it looks when you're not.

Charles carefully sat back inside, closing the door and curling up against it, his damp forehead pressed against the window: on the opposite end, Max sighed again.

\- Do you want to talk about it?

\- What?

\- I mean... It might help you.

\- You want to talk about... What?

\- Whatever made you puke, mate.

Hard to talk about something he had no idea about. It was probably nothing, just his body acting up, like his brain did at the disco. Weird, but nothing serious. Nothing he couldn't make sense of, eventually. Not at the moment, though.

Out of the corner of his eye, Charles caught Max bowing down and trying to get a glimpse of his face; he sat back up, snorting.

\- You're a fucking psycho.

\- Says the guy who was about to strangle me while we were having sex – Charles snapped, turning around with burning cheeks.

Max's laughter crackled like a faulty firework.

\- Why is it such a rollercoaster with you, seriously… We fuck each other's brains out, and then you have a weird nightmare, and then ten minutes later you're laughing your ass off at a bunch of stupid dogs, and then you invite me to a handjob date at the cinema, and then we barely talk to each other, and then we fuck in your Mum's car, and then you fucking throw your insides up...

Instinctively, Charles raised his arms to protect his chest when Max got closer to his face to mockingly sentence: - Get your shit together, _Sharl Lhuh-clèèèèrrrr_.

\- My shit is together. And if you don't like me anymore, we can just stop this – Charles snarled.

He retreated further into the small niche between the seat and the car door, as Max raised a hand to caress his neck, his thumb tracing the hollow space right under his Adam's apple and following the outline of his collarbone.

\- God, you really are a psycho if you think that I'm going to give up on this... - he murmured, eyes dark and focused on his own fingers on Charles' skin, drawing a pattern down his sternum, tracing the outline of his pecs, brushing on his nipples and traveling down on his stomach, visibly tight with tension.

His hand finally came to rest on Charles' chest again, fingertips barely touching the left side, his gaze softer and his eyelids fluttering.

\- I think I'll puke too – he announced, before opening the door on his side and following in Charles' footsteps.


End file.
